


The one time Sherlock couldn't win

by ship_a_holic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, psychotic episode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ship_a_holic/pseuds/ship_a_holic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock experiences a psychotic episode leaving John to ease him back into reality</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock writhed on the couch in the silent room of the flat as the echo of the dripping of the tap, the tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, in his left ear made his sqeeze his hands tighter around his head as the crunching of the fucking open mouth worked endlessly and the laughter oh the laughter was the worst of it – it sang. Sang to him of his worthlessness and the building anxiety and frustration and and

“John!” he screamed, voice haggard and cracking.

And then the cackling started, growing louder and louder until all he could hear was its vile venom 

Oh and now there were hands on him, shaking his shoulders. Opening his eyes, Sherlock could hardly hear through the fog of ceaseless noise, oh so fucking frustrating noise – his toes curling in agony as he regarded John through tearstained eyes and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe as the pressure built in his chest, in his head.

The last thing he saw was Johns tear stained face from above him.

 

When he awoke, Sherlock was on a mattress that was not his own. It was only until he inhaled deeply that he realized with a start – John. He was in John’s bed, Jesus. 

“Hey you,” John whispered as he walked into the dim room. Self loathing rose in his throat almost as soon as the tears threatened to roll down barren cheeks. Luckily, Sherlock managed to hold them in before grabbing the hand John was currently using to fix the cloth on his flatmates forehead. 

An fleeting sigh was all Sherlock heard before John situated himself beside Sherlock. 

“I need to know what happened back there Sherlock,” John said, caution tempering his usually clipped tone of voice.

Brief silence. “I don’t know John” Sherlock choked, “I want it to go away.”

“How long?”

“20 years.”

“Jesus,” John muttered, scrubbing a hand over his haggard face, fingers rasping against dry skin. 

“Make it go away John, please” It was no use now, the tears broke free running in rivets down his face. He could feel Johns eyes on him, internal conflict raging in his eyes. 

After a few moments, John visually straightened, pulling back the covers after toeing off his shoes.

“Alright then, shove over,” he murmured. 

“John, what about your fear of scandal,” Sherlock attempted to mock but it fell flat.

“Hush, just get a good sleep yeh?” John draped an arm around Sherlock’s tentatively.

“Mhmm,” he heard himself murmur, listening to the occasional rush of a car in the silent room. 

Silence. Blessed silence.


	2. Filtering gone wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the first of Sherlock's episodes while a teenager

It had all started on a particularly dreary night in the fall of 1985. I was approximately 15 years, 19 weeks and 3 days old.

The rough carpet beneath my hands was vaguely filtered by my mind as the sweet sound of Radiohead filled my ears. I don't remember exactly what it was. Now you must know that I had been in full check of any stimuli to come my way before that dreadful day. It must have been the stress of the previous day where both Mycroft and Mother threatened to ban my chemistry set... 

The staccato beat of the bass guitar had warped into something sinister. Instead of a soothing rhythm, it became jagged edges setting off minute sparks in my head. 

A sense of doom fell upon me as all the pieces finally clicked into place. It was the posters! That was how they were getting in, spying and controlling my brain. I cursed myself for succumbing to such stupidity, how could I have bypassed such a key factor? That was when a wave of fear had gripped me. They're coming, they're coming, shit, shit, shit! They've realised i have found out ! Quick- run to the wall, to the magazines - rip the eyes out! Quick! 

It was not until afterwards that I had felt the snot and tears that had dried upon my face due to the intense fear that had gripped me throughout...

My mind had rattled with ways to exterminate this infectious evidence. Burn them? No they're plastic they'd just return into the atmosphere come back... In the bin? No, no stupid think! They're just make they're way back... Aha! Racing down stairs I circled my bike around the farm. As a rush of adrenaline surged throughout me I pedalled as fast as i could to the nearest house 1km away, plastic bag swinging in my wake. 

Everything was rather fuzzy after that. I have deduced from the hazardly thrown bike on the grass and the red raw of my skin that I had stayed in the shower under scalding water for approximate 2 hours and 5 minutes. 

I have had 17 episodes of such severity throughout the following 15 years of my life. Not counting the hundreds of panic attacks due to my subsequently low sound tolerance. That is why I have come to appreciate John and his preference for silence. The violin has served me well also. Melody has allowed me to filter out the constant irritation that non harmonious sound brings to such a mind as mine. 

I like to run through the events which have led up to the attacks after each one, which is why I find myself awake at 3:02 on a Friday morning gazing down at perhaps the only person who I would trust to witness such an episode. Soft huffs of breathe are harmonious, establishing a soothing and regular rhythm. Content, I snuggle back under the covers and drift off, deliberate not thinking about what to tell John in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope this was alright I'm not good with first person cohesive narrator, but if you want me to continue I would resume the tone of the the first chapter cause it's what I do best :)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys want me to continue with this yeh :)


End file.
